A Rose for a Gardener: The first bloom of spring
by elfgirlManveri
Summary: A young Sam meets Rosie and encounters the problems of social status


First bloom of Spring  
  
The merry sun smiled gently down upon the bright fields of Hobbiton. A gentle breeze tickled the trees, drawing a rustling giggle from the leafy boughs, and then swept along the white fences of Bagshot Row and into the hot face of Gaffer Gamgee. As the cool air touched his brow he straightened his back, bowed with years of work, and leaned upon his hoe to enjoy the brief respite from the warm day. Squinting a little, the old hobbit gazed out of his plot of vegetables, already blossoming in the fine weather, and over the peaceful meadows he had lived in all his life. A small gaggle of children caught his eye, play-fighting in the long grass. He watched with mild amusement as they threw themselves on top of one another and scrabbled to be the one on the very top of the pile. Then one would break free and run a little way, chased by all the others and the whole mad, giggling scramble would begin again. He could pick out his daughter May in the group and knew that her mother would have something to say about that frock when she came in that evening, covered in grass stains, as he knew she would be. The Gaffer gave a little snort and began to search for his son Samwise among the lads. Three of them belonged to Farmer Cotton, there were a few Chubb girls and one small lad he didn't know but Sam did not seem to be part of the group. Perhaps he was up at Bag End with Mister Bilbo and young Frodo, as he often was, the Gaffer reasoned. Or perhaps- He stopped short as he caught sight of his youngest son.  
  
Two young hobbits sat in the sunshine of the meadow, their curly heads bobbing as they laughed. One of them was Samwise, knelt in the meadow and drawing hesitant shapes in the air with his hands and talking, a little shyly but with great enthusiasm, to a pretty young hobbit lass that sat in the grass before him. Soft brown curls fell over her shoulders and her attention was centred on him, captivated by what he was saying. The Gaffer's brow crumpled as he tried to recall her name. The girl laughed at something that Samwise had said but he shook his head emphatically and looked around for something to prove his point. One brown hand reached into the long grass and he lifted something to his face. Then he offered it to her. She reached out shyly and took it. Then she bowed her head and sniffed. It was a flower! the Gaffer realised and suddenly he remembered the girl's name. Rose. Rose Cotton. Instantly the Gaffer left his vegetable patch and began to tramp over the meadow, hollering for Samwise. He saw the lad's head snap round and listen. Then he muttered his pardons to the girl and began to run across the field towards his father, the sunlight catching his golden-brown curls. When he reached his father he was panting a little. "What is it Dad?" he asked. The Gaffer put a hand on his shoulder and began to lead his son back across the meadow. "I want to have a little word with you Samwise Gamgee."  
  
As Frodo made his way down Bagshot Row he could see Sam and his father standing in front of the hole. The Gaffer had his back to Frodo but he seemed to be speaking very low and seriously to his son. Sam's eyes were locked on his father's and his face wore a curious expression that Frodo didn't quite recognise. It was somewhere between his wanting to obey but somehow not understanding the order. Frodo was just beginning to wonder if he should come back later when the Gaffer straightened and turned towards him.  
"Good morning young master," he said. Sam stayed silent and thoughtful but Frodo could see his eyes light up hopefully as he approached.  
"Good morning, Mr. Gamgee. I was wondering if Sam was free." Frodo enquired politely. Although he was beginning to catch up to the Gaffer in height he still found him a rather gruff and imposing figure.  
"Yes he is. Need him for a job do you?" Sam's father replied.  
"Not really," said Frodo. "I just wanted to talk to him." He didn't really like talking about Sam as if he wasn't there but he knew, and Bilbo had told him, how much the Gaffer like to have everything in its rightful place and done properly. The Gaffer nodded and said to Sam, "Alright then. You go along with Mister Frodo and you watch what you're doing Samwise. You hear me?" As he spoke the last few words he gave Sam a meaningful look that pierced right through his son's gentle brown eyes. The lad nodded and quickly scurried out of the gate to join Frodo.  
  
They walked in silence up the path for a while. Frodo kept glancing at Sam, whose smooth round face was still puzzling away to itself.  
"Is anything the matter, Sam?" he finally asked. "If I can help at all."  
"No its not that anything is exactly wrong, Mister Frodo," Sam said, squinting up at him. "I was just wondering why I couldn't talk to her, that's all. I weren't doing no harm."  
"Who?" asked Frodo, interested.  
"Well May and the Cotton lads were all playing but I didn't want to so I just sat down and watched. Then a girl came up and talked to me and asked me what I did in your garden all day. So I told her about the vegetable patch and all the flowers and the little tree in the corner and the green leaves and the smells and the butterflies-." Sam paused for breath and sighed. "But then my Dad called me and said not to get too friendly with her. He said she was above my station. What does that mean, Mister Frodo?" he asked. Frodo tried to think of a way to explain it to the child.  
"It means.that her family is.has more money than yours."  
"So is my station like what Mr. Bilbo pays my Dad when I do your gardening?"  
"No, not quite. Sam, some people think that the more money you have, the more important you are and that you should only be friends with people who are as important as you are." Frodo cringed a little as he said it, hoping that Sam's feelings hadn't been hurt. The lad's face contorted with thought.  
"So I'm not as important as you because my Dad has less money than Mr. Bilbo," he said slowly, testing out what he thought he understood. Frodo nodded guiltily but then he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and knelt down beside him, gazing straight into Sam's brown eyes, anxious with the thought of the wrong he had committed by simply being there to make Frodo smile.  
"That's what some people think Sam, but it's not true. Really you're just as important as they are. Money can't make you a better person and some families with lots of money are miserable. Not a word of it is true, although the world makes out that it is. Do you believe me Sam?" Sam looked him in the eyes and nodded at his trusted master's comfort and looked a little happier, though Frodo's own face remained cloudy as they continued up the path. He was thinking of the Sackville-Bagginses. They had invited themselves over for tea a few days ago (on purpose to annoy him and Bilbo, Frodo was sure) and poor Sam had been bossed off his feet by Lotho, who knew of Frodo's fondness for the little gardener and blantantly enjoyed making him fight for his temper. Even when Frodo thought of it now he felt a dull fury rise in his chest at Lotho's unpleasantness. No, not all families with money were better. He stood, putting out a hand to steady himself and suddeny realised that they had wandered all the way back to Bag End. His palm was resting on its familiar gate.  
"She was very nice though," Sam continued wistfully. "And she listened to every word I said, though I didn't say too much to start with."  
"What did she look like?" asked Frodo. "I might know her."  
"Well she was a little bit younger than me so mayhap you wont but she had brown hair, darker than mine but not so dark as yours, Mister Frodo. And blue eyes like Bywater pool in the summer, when the light shines on the water and makes it look deep and sparkly. And she was very pretty."  
Frodo shook his head and smiled a little at the poetic description. "Its not a lot to go on, Sam." Most of the lasses have brown hair and eyes. Don't you know her name?" The pair walked aimlessly through the garden Sam had tended through the recent winter that now seemed so far away. The little boy stopped to look at a bloom, the first on its bush. Carefully he stroked the scarlet petals and eased the flower into the light.  
"Her name was Rose, Mister Frodo. Rose Cotton I think because she said she was Tom and Jolly's sister. It's a very pretty name, is Rose. She almost looked like a rose too."  
"What do you mean, Sam?" chuckled Frodo, as his mind created pictures of stem-thin girls with bright red faces and thorny elbows.  
"Well I said she was pretty but.I don't know Mister Frodo, I can't explain it. She sort of.felt like a rose when she talked to me or sat and listened. She.oh it's no good, Mister Frodo. I can't explain what I mean."  
"No I think I understand, Sam," Frodo said, "though I can't explain it either. To me Bilbo always seems to feel like the stories he tells. Old and dusty with the telling but you never know when there's a surprise around the next bend in the story. And you, you remind me of..." Frodo's voice trailed off as he tried to think of something. But try as he might, he just couldn't place Sam's quiet aura. In all of the Shire and the elvish treasures Bilbo had shown him, there was nothing that could match Sam. The closest thing he could think of was a small gem from the remainder of Bilbo's dragon-hoard that he had seen when he was small. It had fallen through a hole in Bilbo's pocket and landed in the mud in the garden. Thinking it was a mere pebble he had picked it up and played with it until a speck of the mud fell off and the glassy aqua light burst through the gap in a dazzlingly tiny spark. That was what Sam felt like to him, only subtly different. The light was nowhere near as brilliant but somehow far more beautiful.  
"Do you think my Dad doesn't like her?" Sam continued. It took Frodo a moment to realise that he was talking about the girl again. "No I don't think it's that." he replied lightly. He thought he could guess why the Gaffer did not want his gardener son getting too friendly with the daughter of a wealthy farmer and personally he found the idea very silly, as Sam was far too young to think of such things. Sam realised his master was not going to explain himself and said no more on the subject. The day was far too fine to fill with worries of the future.  
  
In the meadow the girl Rose sat in the long grass and twirled her flower between her fingers as she watched Sam being led off across the meadow. Oblivious to her brother's games, she played with it happily, swinging it in the air and occasionally bending her head to sniff it. Then her brothers called her to leave. Hurriedly, she cupped the bloom in her hands and took a last long breath of its soft scent before reaching behind her and fastening the little blossom in her hair where it hung like a golden star before running off across the bright meadow. 


End file.
